


With Friends Like These

by benrumo



Series: Inquisitor Cesare Lavellan Desperately Tries Not to Ruin Everything [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benrumo/pseuds/benrumo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix was a wonderful wingman... back in Tevinter. He unfortunately has a lot to learn if he's going to help Dorian flirt with a Dalish elf, however. And Maker, does Dorian need his help.</p><p>(Works in series are not sequential, just same-universe.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Friends Like These

"It took them three hours and the efforts of five Senior Enchanters to break the wards. When they finally pried the door open all they found was a huge, steaming pile of horse shit, and down at the very bottom of it all the three missing runes!"

The entire table bursts out laughing once Felix reaches the punchline. Even Cassandra manages a smirk, which Dorian thinks is magnanimous of her.

"Horse shit's good. Cow shit's better though. Softer, messier, stinks worse," Sera tells Dorian as the laughter starts to die down.

"Alas, horses were all I had at hand. I had to make due. Time was of the essence, you see."

"And where were you when all of this was going down?" Cesare asks, leaning just the slightest bit closer to Dorian. Dorian can feel himself preening from the attention. But oh, what could it hurt? It's a harmless pleasure, isn't it, just catching his eye for this short while?

"By that point I was long gone. I unfortunately missed all the fun. But Felix told me the story when we met again... Well, met for the first time, really, when I began my mentorship under his father. Before that I barely knew he existed, to be honest. He didn't stand out half as much as I did, and I didn't precisely stay at the Minrathos Circle for very long."

"But where did you go? Not home, I imagine."

"Ah. Well... here and there, you know," Dorian says, intentionally vague. Some parts of the story are better left edited out, he thinks. Especially given his present company. "I had some meager savings I'd coaxed from my father over the preceding weeks. By that point I was quite adept at making my way on limited funds."

Felix snorts, "Oh, right. Between the nightly drinking and whoring and the days sleeping it all off in whatever bed you could beg, borrow, or steal, you were a master of frugal living."

A look of shock comes and goes across Cesare's face as fast as lightening, but with the way he's still leaning close, Dorian can't help but to catch it. Cesare gives a short laugh at Felix's poor excuse for a joke and leans back, cutting off the intimacy of their semi-private conversation. Dorian wonders if it's really murder to kill a dying man.

"I required discrete lodgings. Where better to go than those already well-practiced in the art of discretion?" Dorian says in his own defense. "Some palms needed to be greased."

"Palms weren't he only thing you needed greased," Felix fires back with a wicked grin.

"Pft. That's your definition of living cheap?" Sera laughs. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Even on the streets, a big wig's still a big wig."

"In fact, way I heard it, he wrung up quite the tab on the weight of his family's name in every tavern and brothel within the city walls. Which of course only served to anger his father further. The entire city was buzzing with his father's men, but it still took them three weeks to find him. And only then because he's gotten himself tangled up in a... shall we say, a rather large party that went on a rather long time. The way I heard it, they caught him stark naked in the act and he still managed to put a dozen men in the hospital before they cornered him."

Dorian laughs along with the rest of them, casually reaching over as he does to pull Felix in by his collar and put an end to this before it gets any worse.

 _"That's enough of that, thank you,"_ he says in Tevene, maintaining his smiling facade.

"And trust me," Felix continues, ignoring him completely. "That's far from the only story I could tell you. Dorian was kicked out of practically every Circle in the Imperium. His father tried to keep it all hush-hush, of course, but all the gold in Minrathos couldn't have stopped the gossip of Circle apprentices. He was a genuine inspiration to us all."

"As fun as the stories are, most of them are just that: stories," Dorian cuts in. "You know how it is. People do love their stories. It's such a challenge sometimes, trying to live up to my own reputation. I thought I'd catch a break in coming to the south, but apparently if I'm not a rebel harlot I'm an evil blood mage."

"So he compromised by being a harlot with actual blood mages while we were in Redcliffe."

Dorian just smiles all the wider and says, _"Drop it before I set your robes on fire.”_

"You did **what** with blood mages?" Sera demands.

"That's a story in itself, actually," Felix starts.

"Though not a very long or interesting one, I'm afraid," Dorian cuts in, trying to regain control of the conversation.

Unfortunately, Felix has well and truly got the bit in his teeth now.

"Looks like someone's getting a little bashful of the limelight," Felix grins, clearly enjoying himself. "Come on, you don't mean to leave them with just that, do you?"

That is a fine point. He has enough enemies in this bloody country without his newfound friends thinking he makes a habit of sleeping with blood mages. Dorian grits his teeth while Felix launches into the tale.

"There I was, eating breakfast one morning at Redcliffe and minding my own business when in runs Dorian half dressed, begging me to hide him. He dives into the pantry before I can so much as blink and not a minute later, in come this southern enchanter I'd seen flirting with Dorian a few times past. He of course asks if I've seen Dorian, I say no, and off he goes. Dorian comes out fully dressed, looking nothing if not entirely pleased with himself, and plops a gaudy amulet right down on my toast. It's a shame we have to kill him, he says, because that was the most fun I've had since leaving Orlais."

"And did you?" Cesare asks Dorian directly. "Kill him, I mean."

"I suppose watching him throw his life away at a futile attempt to win back the rebel mages' freedom could have been entertaining, but if you've seen one abomination, you've seen them all," Dorian says, thankful for the shift in focus away from his past indiscretions. "The last thing we needed was blood magic going unchecked when we were already up to our arses in idiotic mage supremacists. Besides, by that point the Inquisition had turned the eyes of its banners towards us. Wouldn't do to have you show up and find our ranks littered with blood mages on top of everything else. I didn't leave Orlais just to watch you burn Redcliffe to the ground with us inside it."

"We would not have killed half the living mages in Thedas just because a few were weak," Cassandra says. "The Inquisition is better than that."

"You may not be aware, but there were rumors shortly after what happened at the Conclave that the Inquisition was to be the next Exalted March. We weren't sure what to expect from this so-called Herald of Andraste, not until he showed up on our doorstep."

"I hate that title," Cesare grumbles, and Dorian wonders how many drinks it took to produce that little confession.

Officially, the Inquisition was keeping a stance of non-commitment on the subject of Cesare's supposed divine inspiration. Privately, the poor chap had quite given up the battlefield, and it was a bitter retreat. Voicing anti-Andrastian sentiment wasn't a very good way to make friends, particularly if you were the sort to tattoo the emblems of pagan gods across your face. Even those closest to him seemed quite critical of his Dalish beliefs, in Dorian's observation. Dorian feels an impulsive desire to set himself apart from the likes of Blackwall and Sera and assure the Inquisitor that he respects his beliefs. Honestly, he wishes he knew more about them, but the few published works still in circulation on the Dalish have proved contradictory at best and painfully biased at worst. He supposes he could always simply ask the Inquisitor himself, but...

"Well, this conversation took a turn for the depressing," Sera breaks in. "Oh, blood magic! Kill everybody! Fantastic. I know, I'll go get everyone another round and by the time I come back somebody will have thought up of something less horrible to talk about. Sound good?"

"No. It is late enough for me," Cassandra says, standing. "Some of us have work waiting for us in the morning."

"Aw, look, you went and ran Cassy off! Great job," Sera complains. "Do you know how hard it was convincing her to take a break for once?"

"You had to know when I agreed to come down here that I would only stay for an hour or two at most," Cassandra tells her. "The conversation did not change my mind either way."

"Yeah, sure," Sera pouts. "Ugh! Why is this tavern always such a hairy sausage fest? Gets old, you know?"

"If that's how you feel, you should invite Josaphine along one night," Cesare tells her.

"An excellent suggestion," Cassandra agrees. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the invitation, but this is not how I typically spend my evenings."

"Fancy britches? Come down here in her silky gold shirt with its clean, poufy sleeves? Pft, yeah right."

"If you think your odds are worse with her than with me, you have misjudged her."

"Seriously misjudged her," Cesare adds, smiling. "She's probably be delighted at an invitation."

"Alright, alright. I'll put it on my to do list. But don't think that gives you an excuse to be a stranger, okay? We're here every night!" Sera says as if that isn't knowledge common to all.

"I'd better turn in too," Cesare says, following Cassandra's lead. "Some duke or the other is set to arrive tomorrow and I'm to make an official appearance."

"Are you sure you can't stay for just one more drink?" Dorian begs before he can restrain himself. He could kill Felix. He really could. "Believe it or not, being the singular topic of conversation does get stale after a while despite how fascinating I am. You should tell us a story of your own. I know the thick air of mystery around you is part of your charm, but what could one little story hurt?"

"If I stay for just one more drink I'll be here 'til three in the morning," he says, though as far as Dorian's concerned that's hardly a problem. "I suppose it's only fair that I return the favor, however, after tonight's entertainment. It must be so tiring, always being the most interesting person at the table."

Dorian should not feel so giddy at that. He really shouldn't. He's clearly just teasing, Dorian forcefully reminds himself.

"Ha! Why don't you tell me, Inquisitor? With you around I at least have some competition.”

"Don't get your hopes up too high. My life before the Inquisition was hardly as adventurous as yours. But fair's fair. Perhaps tomorrow night?"

Adventurous, Dorian notes. That's not too bad, is it?

"Until then, Inquisitor," he says, unable (worse, unwilling) to keep himself from returning Cesare's smile. He tips his glass up in mock salute.

Felix wraps an arm around Dorian's shoulders, his hand falling idly across Dorian's chest. He leans over Dorian's lap as he extends a hand towards Cesare. It's a touch too intimate for southern comfort. It's a touch too intimate for even Tevinter comfort. An old trick, one Dorian had taught Felix for his own benefit, now being used against him.

"Good night, Inquisitor," Felix says, acting for all the world as if groping Dorian like this is the most natural thing in the world.

The Inquisitor falls into the trap as easily as a naive baby nug. If only the Maker would open the ground and let it swallow him whole right at this very moment. You could read a look like that from a league away, even if you were half blind in the middle of a forest.

Cesare, to his credit, does manage to return Felix's smile as he bids them both a good night. It's a crooked smile, but even that's a passable effort, Dorian thinks, under the circumstances.

 _"So that's how it is,"_ Felix whispers in Dorian's ear as the Inquisitor walk off.

"Well, I suppose that's the end of this evening," Dorian sighs irritably, pushing Felix off him.

"Looks like," Sera sighs, watching the two sensible members of their drinking party leave. "This is what we get, drinking with lightweights. Least we got some good laughs in before it was over, right? Those two could use some good laughs, way things have been going."

"And we're nothing if not loyal servants to the cause."

"Too right," Sera says, giving him what might be the first real smile she's ever directed his way. "You know, you're not half bad when you're not busy acting fancy and raising dead things up. You should stop buy again too, tell another story. Gets boring when I'm the only one with the funny ones. No more blood magic, though. Seriously. Not funny."

"Agreed."

Sera bids the two of them goodnight and Dorian's left with only Felix for company. Fantastic.

 _“Don't know why you put up such a fuss. It's a great story. And she's not the only one who liked it,"_ Felix says with a suggestive smirk.

 _"I need another drink,"_ Dorian says, doing a very good job at pretending he has absolutely no clue what Felix is talking about.

_"Get me one too, while you're at it."_

_"You're at your limit, remember? Don't think just because your father's out of your hair you get a free pass when it comes to your health. I'll get you some water."_

_"Spoilsport."_

The tavern seems quieter and emptier than when they first started drinking. The bard's switched from proper, romping drinking songs to something not precisely somber but close enough. The quiet moments are the worst sometimes, when there's nothing left to distract him. Two years. Maybe three, and then the blight will take him. Best not to think about it now.

 _"I've got to admit, he wouldn't have been my first guess,"_ Felix says when Dorian returns. He takes his less than pristine glass of water with a grimace, but thankfully doesn't put up too much of a fuss.

_"What are you on about?"_

_"You know exactly what I'm on about. No point in playing dumb, not if you're going to go around looking at one another like that."_

_"Nothing's going on,"_ Dorian tells him honestly, though he knows that will hardly put an end to Felix's prying.

_"Don't get me wrong, he's nice enough. I'm just saying, it's not as if you're starved for options with all these strapping soldiers around. And that commander you were talking to this morning, I figured he'd be right up your alley."_

_"Ha! You know how it is. The pretty ones only want to chase skirts."_

_"That's funny, coming from you."_

_"What can I say? I'm exceptional in all areas of my life,"_ Dorian says with a cocky smile. _"Besides, Cullen's a little too..."_

Dorian makes a vague gesture with his hands as he searches for the right word.

 _"Nice?"_ Felix provides.

_"Precisely. Don't get me wrong, he has his moments. But I think I prefer the idea of him far more than I ever would the reality."_

_"You like a man with a little... Oh, how do the Orlesians put it? They've got such quaint little phrases for these things."_

_"Je ne sais quoi?"_

_"That's the one. But that still doesn't explain what's got you so fixated on the Inquisitor. I mean, if we're going to talk about plain, old nice..."_

_"Don't let him fool you with that proper Herald of Andraste act. Get him alone and he's... Mm, he's a great deal of things, some of which I'm not sure I even have words for."_

_"And is that something that happens often, you getting him alone?"_ Felix teases.

_"Not half so often as I'd like."_

Felix laughs, _"I'm sure you could change that if you really put your mind to it. I could even lend you a helping hand, if you'd like. I still owe you for that girl at Redcliffe. Too bad you didn't tell me about him before we started drinking. You could be in his bed right now instead of sitting here forcing me to drink dirty well water."_

He supposes he could let Felix carry on with his false assumptions, but given Felix's meddlesome nature it could potentially cause more problems than it solves.

_"It's, ah... not quite as simple as all that."_

It could be that simple, of course. The trouble is, Dorian's not sure he wants simple. But with the world falling apart all around them, Maker knows neither of them need any more complications in their lives.

_"The Herald of Andraste sleeping with an evil Tevinter magister? They'll claim blood magic before I even get his knickers off, and then where will we be? No, Felix. I'll restrain myself for the sake of all Thedas."_

_"How selfless. They'll write songs about you one day,"_ Felix rolls his eyes. _"Is that really the best excuse you can come up with?"_

_"Do you hear the way the rabble out there talk about us when they think we're out of earshot? Between our heritage and Alexius' foiled plans, we're lucky they haven't made us Tranquil. Even their mages look at us like walking abominations."_

_"You are so full of shit. Since when have you ever cared what people think about you?"_

_"Perhaps it's not my reputation I'm concerned about."_

Dorian does not like the look that comment earns him. He suspects he's going to like the turn this conversation is about to take even less.

 _"What?"_ Dorian demands irritably.

_"Are you...?"_

_"Stop dancing and spit it out already."_

_"You don't want to flirt with him. You want to **court** him."_

Dorian was right. He definitely does not like the turn this conversation has taken. Why did no one tell him how infuriating friends could be before he went and found one for himself?

 _"Now what could possibly have given you that impression?"_ Dorian says coolly, doing his best to throw Felix off the scent.

 _"Have you noticed that whenever you get nervous about where a conversation is going you start responding with questions?"_ Felix grins smugly.

 _"Your mother is a flea-bitten whore and your cock is no bigger than hers,"_ Dorian snaps. Andraste's fucking tits, he does do that, doesn't he? Felix clearly knows him far too well.

_"Are you blushing? Maker above, you are. You're actually blushing. I can hardly believe it. I catch you spitroasted between twin dwarves and you can barely take the cock out of your mouth for long enough to tell me to shut the fucking door, but **this** has you blushing? What have these southerners done to you?"_

Because how he chooses to spend his spare time is _his_ choice, regardless of the consequences. This is anything but. Cesare Lavellan, Dalish elf, Herald of fucking Andraste and Lord Inquisitor was the last person he would have ever chosen to care for. As Felix so bluntly pointed out, he was hardly in keeping with Dorian's typical fare. There had been nothing, no sign of warning, to prepare him. The Maker threw Cesare into his life like a bolt of lightning, an unavoidable act of nature bending him to its will. It's unpleasant, intense, invasive...

It's also fragile. He could put an end to it, if he chose to do so. That much, at least, is still in his power. The way his heart picks up, the way his eyes pull towards Cesare like magnets. That childish, desperate need to show off, to be noticed. He could crush it all back down. For all its vivacious tenacity, it's still just a sapling. All it would take is a judicious application of willpower. He could stop it. If he wanted to.

 _"Oh, you've got it bad, don't you? Look at you. Absolutely precious. I suppose it's about time you had your first schoolboy crush,"_ Felix teases. _"So, what's it like? Do you snuggle together to ward off the chill of these cold Ferelden nights once the fire starts to dim? I bet he fits against you just perfect, height he is."_

 _"It's not like anything because nothing is going on,"_ Dorian corrects him for the third time, trying not to linger too long on that last foolishly pleasant thought.

_"You're not serious. You look at each other like **that** and nothing's going on? You've got to be joking, right?"_

_"And exactly when would we have had the time to engage in such ridiculous fantasies, can you tell me that? I don't know if you've noticed, but we've both been rather busy trying to save the world."_

_"You've been on the road with him for the last fortnight! Don't tell me the opportunity never presented itself. Not even for a little flirtation?"_

_"From him or from me?"_

_"Oh, so that's how it is? Tough nut to crack, is he? From the look he just gave you, I think you're making decent headway."_

_"Not precisely what I meant,"_ Dorian says vaguely, taking a swig of his cheap Ferelden beer and wondering whether he really wants Felix to drop it or pry the whole of it out of him piece by piece. The scales seem to be tipping with each passing second.

_"You're the one playing hard to get?"_

_"I... He surprised me."_

_"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"_

Dorian hesitates, still caught on that swinging scale. Why is he holding back? And with Felix, of all people? Habitual reserve. Years of training. Easy answers, but not quite right. No, it's more than that. Deeper. He's scared. Not of Felix, never of Felix.

If he gives it voice, this confusing and unsure thing building inside him, if he gives it words he gives it structure. He can't say it without inherently giving it a tangible form, a conceivable plotting of events. Giving it words means deciding what it is and, by extension, it's relation to him. What is this to him? An unrequited crush, a foolish fantasy, the beginning of the romantic thread any good tragedy needs? He's not ready for this decision. He's not sure there's enough time left to the world for him to ever be ready for this decision.

Maybe he needs this. Maybe this could be good for him, sharing his feelings with an uninvolved party. Maybe this is what friends, real friends, are for.

 _"I didn't precisely come to the Inquisition looking for romance, but somewhere along the line..."_ Dorian shrugs with a small smile, unsure if he can even explain it.

_"Come on, you've got to give me more than that!"_

_"I notice him now. I can't **not** notice him. Some childish part of me makes me wish I could be the only thing he notices every time I enter a room. And sometimes I am. He looks at me, yes. I'm not sure he ever stops, not since the moment he first laid eyes on me."_

_"Sounds promising."_

_"But he's absolutely impossible in the most infuriating of ways. I have no idea what it is he wants. I've, ah... I may have listened in on a few of his conversations with the others in our little cabal, just to get a better sense of the man. All I discovered is that he's a chameleon. That's the only way I can think to describe it. It's not insincere. It's not even political. He's that genuinely adaptive. He can join in Sera's pranks while still being the decisive leader Cassandra admires. He can spend an afternoon Vivienne sipping wine and listening to tales of Circle life as easily as he can one in the stables with Blackwall and the horsemaster. It's as if he's able to find a piece of himself that resonates with those around him, regardless of who they are."_

_"So... who is he with you?"_

_"With me, he's charming, intelligent, and opinionated,"_ Dorian smiles bitterly.

_"You flirt so he flirts?"_

_"Perhaps this is all just a case of my narcissism getting the better of me. And damn him, but it's utterly effective."_

_"And if it's not?"_

If it's not...

_"No one likes a dying optimist, Felix."_

_"Everyone loves a dying optimist. We're inspirational,"_ he grins, throwing an arm around Dorian's shoulder. _"Come on. You don't believe he's playing you, not when he looks at you like that."_

_"Not wanting to believe something is different than not believing it."_

_"It's the end of the world, Dorian. If now's not the time for a little faith, when is?"_ he says, squeezing Dorian's shoulder. _"Besides, if he break your heart, I'll just have to kill him. Fair?"_

Maker, what will he do once Felix is gone? Survive, he supposes. But the world won't ever be the same.

-

"Hey, boss?"

"Yeah, Krem?"

The Iron Bull slams his shield forward, trying to catch Krem off guard while he's distracted. It doesn't work. Krem strikes forward with the thin wooden sword in his hand before Iron Bull gets a chance to recover, landing a solid blow on his arm.

"Picked up some intel you might be interested in hearing. The 'Vint mages haven't figured out yet that they're not the only ones who speak Tevene and drink cheap beer."

"Let's keep it that way. What'd you here?"

Krem gives him a thorough recap on the conversation he'd overheard the night before. Iron Bull's grinning so hard his cheeks hurt by the time Krem's done.

"Sorry, Krem, but it looks like we're going to have to cut training short today. See if you can drag Skinner's lazy ass out to spar with you. I've got work to do."

"Aw, come on, boss. We were just getting warmed up!”

"Who ever heard of a 'Vint Altus in love with a Dalish elf? It's too perfect. Like that story. You know the one."

"Boss, everyone died at the end of that story."

"See? It's perfect. If the whole world is about to fall on our fucking horns, I at least plan to go out with a bang. Don't you think they deserve to do the same?"

"Fine, but who ever heard of a Qunari matchmaker? Your people don't even date! What do you think you're going to do?"

"I'm Ben-Hassrath," the Iron Bull shrugs. "That's close enough. I'll figure something out. But if you're so concerned you could always lend a helping hand, you know. Hey, that's not a half bad idea, actually. The Inquisitor trusts you. He could talk to you about all that shit I wouldn't understand."

"You need a hobby, boss," Krem mocks, but truth be told he's already sold on the idea.

"I already have a hobby. Six of you, in fact. What could a seventh hurt? Now come on, let's go. I want to catch the Inquisitor before he heads down to the tavern. This is going to be fun!"


End file.
